Mourir en Mer
by Mesataki
Summary: Based on the game by the same name. A boy gets off a train with a single purpose driving him.


This was it.

He waited for the luggage to be moved in and out, the faint drumming of his heart a whisper in his ear. Sweat clung to his neck and soaked the thin shirt he wore – his breathing was slightly erratic. Not much time – but they were still moving. Patience.

He held on, not daring to close his eyes.

It was dark in the train car, even with the door thrown wide open. He was unfortunate enough to be used to such conditions, so it bothered him little. The motion of the train had been more troublesome. The light had made it difficult to read, and trying to read the moving letters only left him nauseating. At the first feeling of bile rising in the throat, he had immediately fought back and stomached it instantly. He had an ominous thought that it was not just bile threatening to spill from his insides.

He dared not read; he dared not sleep, but he wanted to see. Just once.

And when they were done, he nearly bolted out of his hiding place. He had to force himself to be careful – choosing to ease around the crate rather than just jumping over it. He had no idea if he was even capable of such a strenuous task anymore. He slipped out of the car – no one seemed to notice, and if they did, they didn't care. Good – god help him if any of the workers shipped him home. He'd rather die this close than back there.

He found the town to be pleasantly quiet. There were a few pedestrians strolling through the street on some agenda he had no business of knowing, but that was all extraneous details – it was of no matter to him. The sun was still high in the sky – and for that he was glad. There was no chance of him falling asleep on his feet, and he could see pure white wings of the gulls circling above.

He nearly cried when they raucously called out to each other and was on the verge of collapsing when a sea breeze carried the scent of salt to his nose.

He knew where to go, and though it was on the other side of the town, he did not notice the distance. He was caught in a mesmerized state – murky brown eyes transfixed upon the blue horizon.

There it was.

He found his steps quickening – his weak legs working harder than they could, and then he was running – no flying through the streets. Disheveled brown hair, ugly face, disfigured body, and yet the joy clear in his misshapen eyes – he was a sight to behold. What few people there were stared at this strange boy. Of course, he paid them no heed.

He made it to the pier, tripping on the wood and falling onto the soft sand below him. The shifting mixture of minerals clung uncomfortably to his slick skin and snuck into his shoes where they irritated his sickly-pale skin. He stood up, panting, with the sand rolling off of his gaunt body. This was warm bliss. A smile – a disfigured smile grew on his lips. He limped to shoreline, ignoring the gawking of those sunbathing.

He took a few steps towards the water, shambling in a slow gait. With alarm, he realized how heavy his body felt, and how the shoreline seemed to stretch further and further away from him. He would never make it – it was too late. He'd…

No.

His legs wobbled with every step to the point where it seemed the soft breeze could topple him. Perspiration continued to build, saturating every part of him with a chilling sheen of sweat.

Please.

His breathing was shallow; his heart threatening to burst out of his chest with such a hard rhythm. It was nearly impossible to hear with it so loud in his ears – but the waves – he could hear the succinct crashing of water upon sand. It was so much louder in magnitude, rising above everything else.

Then he was there.

His feet sunk into the ground, the water soaking into his mismatched socks and surely ruining his old shoes. The ocean was so cold but so invigorating. It seemed as if he could nod off listening to such a gentle beat and fall asleep forever.

Finally, his knees buckled. Faintly, he could hear a clamor of gasps in the background, but that was of no matter to him. He fell forward, the sand carrying his imprint and the water gushing all around on him. He coughed once, and a spray of blood carried forth – staining the water for just a moment before it carried it back into the ocean.

As he laid there, he could feel nothing but a happiness so intense that his heart could burst.

And so it did.

_Mourir en mer._

_

* * *

_[A/N]: Nothing much to say here but a bit of context.

In the game, the protagonist is an abused boy trapped in his attic by his father. He realizes that he's dying and has refused to sleep for the past three days in fear of passing away. He knows it's inevitable, but he wants to see the ocean before he dies.


End file.
